A Marriage of Inconvenience (26 page)

The memories alone made her languorous, full of the pleasant ache of desire, and she shifted to lie yet a little closer to James, enjoying the press of his skin against hers. He showed no signs of waking, so she fell into a doze, only to wake abruptly when the door opened and the housemaid stepped in, none too quietly. Lucy held still and heard the servant’s sharp indrawn breath—of course, she would have expected them to be in Lucy’s room, as they had been every morning since the wedding. The maid’s ordinary walk became a slow, careful glide as she crossed to the washstand, but the soft clink as she shifted the porcelain ewer and poured fresh water into it was enough to wake James.

He did not make any sign that the maid could have noticed, but Lucy knew the instant he woke. His hand at her waist tightened and began a slow, deliberate caress, down to brush the top of the curls between her thighs, then up to cup her breast. Her desire for him turned into something closer to a smolder than an ache. She poked him in the ankle with a toe to let him know she was awake and that he really must behave until the maid left the room, but she also covered his hand with her own and settled it over her breast.

His erection grew against her back, hard and promising. James awoke in an aroused state more often than not. Before today, it had made her anxious, but now that she knew what he wanted for her and how blissful it was…well, she had never before thought that it took an eternity for a housemaid to set out fresh water and towels and to lay a fire in the hearth ready for lighting should the day prove cool. But in Lucy’s impatience she began to think the girl would never leave.

At last Lucy heard the door shut with a soft click. She stretched luxuriantly, pressing herself against James. He made a sound in the back of his throat—a happy, inquisitive “Mm?”—kissed the back of her neck and tangled his feet with hers. With the need for silence over, his caressing hand at her breast grew more provocative, fingers circling the hard peak of her nipple, and she returned him a long, pleased “Mmmm” of her own.

Lucy expected him to at any moment turn her onto her back and go about coupling in what she assumed was the ordinary, usual way, but he was in no hurry, evidently satisfied to explore her body with his questing hand while he kissed and nibbled at the back of her neck. It was different, but also somehow right, in the sleepy light of early morning, to simply nuzzle and play without rushing to completion. This was what he had been wanting all along, she realized, and she was sorry to have delayed it even a little.

But then his hand found its way between her thighs to that same exquisitely sensitive spot his tongue had stroked yesterday, and she could not think any longer. She gasped and arched against his erection. Surely
now
he would turn her to face him.

Instead he nudged her top leg forward, the slid his hand around to touch her again, now running a fingertip around her entrance and slipping just inside her. She cried out with pleasure, and he pulled her back against him, shifted her hips and his, and somehow managed to get himself inside her.

It wasn’t like having him on top of her. At this angle he couldn’t make a deep thrust, but it felt just as good as he slowly eased himself almost all the way out, then pushed back in with a short, sharp thrust.

His hands and mouth were busy, too. He worked his way up her neck to nibble at her earlobe, and he caressed her breasts in time with his thrusts until she was moaning to match his rhythm, a little startled at her own abandon but enjoying it far too much to resist it.

Now he dragged his hand down her belly and found that one particular spot again. He rubbed it, hard, and the pleasure exploded within her, leaving her gasping and shuddering.

A few more thrusts, and he went rigid against her back with a groan, his seed a warm pulse inside her. They lay still and silent for a few seconds, and then James withdrew and at last tugged her to lie facing him.

“Good morning,” he said with a rather smug smile.

Lucy couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

James’s expression turned indignant. “What is so amusing?”

“It’s only—I hadn’t noticed that we hadn’t even
spoken
to each other yet.”

Now he laughed, too, pulling her into his arms, and they lay together in a relaxed heap. It took them some time to speak again, as every time one tried, the other started giggling or chuckling afresh. But at last James caught Lucy’s face between his hands and pressed his lips to hers in a delicate, solemn kiss. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he said.

“Couldn’t you tell?”

“Yes. But—I’d still like to hear you say it, if you can.”

“I did,” she acknowledged, feeling her face heat a little. “Did you?”

He smiled, no longer smug. “Immensely.” She pillowed her head against his shoulder, and he smoothed her hair. “Oh, Lucy,” he said. “We’re going to have such fun together.”

It proved to be a day of fun. They passed their morning in the usual way, with James reading the papers and his voluminous correspondence over the breakfast table, all the while talking to Lucy of the assorted important people and political issues that would become her world when they went to London together when next Parliament was in session.

After breakfast he gave her another riding lesson, and that too was ordinary enough until the very end. As they walked from the stables, he whispered that when she was more confident on her mare’s back, he would show her to a certain secluded grove where the trees grew thickly enough to screen them from any passerby’s view. They could take a picnic and afterward, perhaps…

“Outside!” Lucy gasped, shocked and thrilled together.

“Why not? I think you’ll like it.”

All at once Lucy pictured it, the two of them naked together on a picnic blanket—since she was not entirely lost to modesty, her imagination provided a second blanket to cover them—and she vowed to apply herself even more zealously to her horsemanship.

Once inside, Lucy met with the housekeeper, leaving James to answer letters in the library. When she had settled on the day’s meals and reviewed the household accounts, she thought of seeking him out, but instead decided to go to her new studio and draw. James had his business to attend to, and she did not want to interrupt him.

But she had not been at her easel for half an hour when her husband strolled in. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.

She set her pencil down and smiled at him. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I missed you, that’s all.” He tilted her chin up and stooped to kiss her, long and thoroughly. She slid her hands to his shoulders and kissed him back.

“Mm,” he said when he broke the contact, “but this isn’t very comfortable.” He pulled her to her feet, sat in the chair himself and tugged her onto his lap.

“James!” she yelped.

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Much better.” He kissed her again. With one hand he held her securely while the other roamed her body, at last tugging free the fichu that filled in the low neckline of her dress to make it suitable for daytime wear. She gasped at the touch of his hand on the soft skin just above her breasts. He traced the edge of her bodice with his fingertips, then worked his hand beneath her dress, beneath her petticoat, stays and shift to find her breast. She whimpered as he caught her nipple between his fingers.

Then he reached for the hem of her skirts.

“Here? Now?” she asked.

He laughed. “Why not? No one will come in here without leave.”

Of course they would not. Lucy laughed too. There was something so luxuriously naughty about coupling in broad daylight like this—and she’d had so little luxury and no naughtiness whatsoever in her life before marrying James. She shifted to help him and then sat astride him as he unbuttoned his breeches.

“I hope we don’t break the chair,” she murmured.

He raised an eyebrow. “We won’t. I wouldn’t have such—” his erection sprang free and he guided her hand to it, “—shoddy workmanship—” he seized her by the hips, drawing her closer, and she rose up over him and eased down onto him, “—in my house.”

Lucy gasped and kissed him. “Hush, now.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said meekly. He arched up beneath her—the chair did creak a little—and she shifted till her tiptoes found purchase on the floor and she could ride him like a horseman posting to the trot. This was especially delicious somehow, taking their pleasures fully clothed, her hands clutching the blue superfine wool of his coat even while beneath her pooled sprigged muslin skirts they were joined in the most intimate way possible.

Afterward, when both were sated but while they still sat, joined, on the chair, the first thing she said to him was, “I feel naughty.”

He stroked her cheek with one hand. “The Lucy I first met would never have sounded so pleased about such a thing.”

“Then I suppose you’re a dreadful influence on me.”

He kissed her, and after a few more kisses and a fair amount of laughter, they straightened each other’s clothes and went about the business of the day.

That night, in the midst of what had been their usual sort of coupling, only more pleasurable than on previous nights, James abruptly rolled so that she lay atop him. A new thought occurred to Lucy. “You have a list somewhere, don’t you?” she accused, even as she shifted to get her knees under her for better leverage.

“Yes, like that…mmm.” He seized her hips in a caressing grip. “A list of what?”

“A list of positions. Or a catalog. We haven’t done it in the same way twice today.”

“Are you complaining about that?”

“No.” She laughed. “It’s simply amusing, to imagine you crossing off items, thinking,
Better roll over this time. Lucy hasn’t tried that yet.
”

“I do not have a list,” he protested. “Or, wait—perhaps I do. And we aren’t even close to exhausting the possibilities.”

Lucy blinked and paused in her rocking motions. How many more ways could bodies be linked? “Truly?”

“Truly. I’ll show you tomorrow. But now…” His hands tightened on her hips, urging her to move again.

Nothing loath, she complied. “You’re a madman,” she said, “but I love you for it.”

“Do you? Well, you’re the most dear, serious, dignified lady that ever was—and I love you. I love everything about you.”

As Lucy fell asleep in James’s arms that night, she wondered if she could bear so much happiness.

At breakfast on their second morning of bliss, James sighed as he read the last item in his little stack of post. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to go riding with you this morning,” he said. “This is from Mr. Rowley, telling me that Hartley is in Great Alston today exhibiting his thresher, but that tomorrow morning he’ll be well on his way to Cardiff.”

“I don’t mind. I think I’ll try a short ride on my own, perhaps with Sam to accompany me. Barbara and I begin to understand each other very well now, I think.”

“Yes, you’re a quick study.” He winked at her. “At a great many things.”

She colored and laughed. James wished he could spend the day doing nothing but enjoying her embraces, but a good landowner must give any potential agricultural improvement due consideration.

He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice even though no one else was in the room. “There’s something you might find of interest to study in the third drawer on the right-hand side of my desk—the one that’s always locked. I’ll give you the key before I leave.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Something of interest, you say?”

“Oh, simply a book my father brought from India. It’s quite, er, lavishly illustrated. I thought you might look at it to see if there’s anything you’d like for us to attempt together one of these nights.”

“I look forward to it. You’ve aroused my curiosity.”

She placed the faintest lascivious emphasis on “aroused,” and he grinned. A quick study, indeed.

James spent an hour evaluating the merits of the thresher before concluding it was not for him, at least not till certain flaws had been addressed. The inventor was disappointed, but they departed on cordial terms when James expressed his interest in seeing future models of the thresher or any other agricultural improvements the inventor developed.

James had left Ghost in the stables of the Rose and Crown, the better of Great Alston’s two inns, and his step quickened as he drew near. He was eager to go home to his wife, and he smiled at his own domesticity.

But as he was about to step into the stable yard behind the inn, he was arrested by a familiar voice just around the corner of the building and out of sight. Lieutenant Arrington.

“Of course I am heartily sorry for your sister’s plight, but I cannot marry her
now.
”

“You’re not sorry,” replied an angry Yorkshire-accented voice. “If you were sorry, you would’ve married her these two months ago when I first wrote you.”

“Be that as it may, there is nothing I can do for her now. I’m no bigamist.”

“No, you’re only a cad,
Lieutenant.
And a lieutenant you’ll stay. I will ruin you.”

Arrington laughed. “I wish you luck. But I must warn you that my wife’s cousin is Major Gordon of my own regiment, and General Mackenzie is also a kinsman. Of course, his health is such that he will not take a field command, but I’m sure you must know how well his voice is heeded at Horse Guards.”

“Bastard,” the unknown Yorkshireman spat.

“No,” Arrington said coolly. “That would be your sister’s child.”

James narrowly refrained from slamming his fist against the inn’s stone wall.

“If I might offer a suggestion,” Arrington continued, an unbecoming note of triumph in his voice, “rather than seeking to ruin me, your interests would be better served by finding some man who’d be willing to marry Clarissa. Someone of your own level. I’m sure a man of your resources could make it worth such a person’s while to look the other way over his firstborn’s paternity.”

“Well, you’ve left me with no other choice, have you? I wish you the joy of your new wife, Lieutenant. I hope she turns out a proper shrew.”

With a crunching sound of boots on gravel, the Yorkshireman stalked away from Arrington. As he rounded the corner of the inn, his angry progress led him to almost crash headlong into James.

“I do beg your pardon, sir,” he said as he drew up short. “Most careless of me.”

“Not at all.” James quickly took the other man’s measure as he stepped aside to let him pass. Though his accent was not that of a gentleman, he was tastefully and expensively dressed—likely a successful merchant, or perhaps the owner of a factory or mill. James wished he could ask him for more of the particulars of all he had just overheard, but to do so would have been unpardonably rude, so he took a deep breath and prepared to confront his brother-in-law instead.

He found Sebastian in the inn yard, leaning against the wall with an expression of grim satisfaction on his face. In his school days James had learned well how to deal with taller bullies. It took speed and surprise. Before Arrington could speak, James punched him in the stomach, a hard, breath-stealing blow. Reflexively Arrington raised his own fist, but James caught it before the blow fell.

“What the hell do you mean by this?” Arrington asked.

“What do you think?” James pushed Arrington’s fist aside and stepped back so he could more easily look his opponent in the eye. “You married my sister to escape your responsibilities to another lady, and now you’ve made Anna miserable in the bargain.”

“
I
made
her
miserable? I assure you, Selsley, that the shoe is entirely on the other foot.”

“I don’t believe it for an instant, and if she had, I’m sure it would be no more than you deserve. Why didn’t you marry that man’s sister? If he had the power to ruin you but for
my family,
I daresay he would’ve had the power to make you as well.”

“Good God, you heard him speak. Yes, Adam Russell is rich, the devil, but as low and common as can be. His father was nothing but a blacksmith, but somehow he built himself a little empire of mills. If I’d known Clarissa was his sister I never would’ve touched her, but she had quite abandoned her family by that point, I assure you. It’s not as though I was her first keeper.”

James recognized the name. Russell had earned a tidy fortune from his mills in Yorkshire and Lancashire, and he was among the army’s suppliers, which would explain his threat to ruin Arrington. James normally found amusing the hypocrisy of a society that was willing to accept
his
new money, because it had been earned out of sight in India and had quickly been washed clean by a title, lands and a marriage alliance with an old noble family, but that sneered upon a fortune whose plebeian origins were nearer at hand. But now Anna was trapped in a dreadful marriage because Sebastian Arrington was a snob as well as a cad.

“Her brother seemed to think you bore a certain degree of responsibility,” he said.

“Well, of course! She’d avoided him for years—he didn’t even know if she was alive or dead—but when I turned her off she found herself short of funds and lacking a home, so she decided to put on a show of repentance and grovel for readmission to the family. And
naturally
that sort of man would love to see his sister marry a man of rank.”

“If that were all he wanted, I daresay he’d look higher than the younger son of a baronet,” James said coolly.

“Be that as it may, surely you cannot expect me to marry my mistress.”

“I’m sure there are men better born than you who would’ve hurried to marry their mistress upon learning she was Adam Russell’s sister. Arrington, you’re a fool.”

“Am I? Your sister’s fortune is greater.”

James’s fist came up again, and Arrington laughed at him. “I wouldn’t do that, unless you care to fight a duel,” he said. “I already know you’re no great shot, for Anna told me so just days after we met.”

James ground his teeth. Anna had always found his lack of prowess as a hunter, compared to their uncle and cousins, a source of amusement. “I’m considered a fair hand with a sword, though.”

Arrington smiled menacingly. “So am I, and with army training, not dancing at some fencing-master’s studio. And, forgive me, but my reach exceeds yours by a sizable amount. In any case, I don’t think we’d want such a scandal in our families, regardless of who came out victorious.”

“If it would free Anna, I’d be happy to weather such a scandal,” James said, dreaming with bloodthirsty glee of Arrington skewered on the end of his sword.

“But you aren’t guaranteed such an outcome, are you now? If you challenge me, I will choose pistols. Much good you could do for your precious sister from your grave.”

Damn him to all the torments of hell, but he was right. Beyond urging her to seek a separation—which he fully intended to do, armed as he now was with greater knowledge of Arrington’s perfidy—there was nothing he could do for Anna that didn’t carry a risk of making her plight worse. “Never forget that my sister has a family behind her,” he said. “If you continue to make her unhappy, we’ll see to it that you regret it.”

“Just how do you intend to accomplish that?”

“We’ll find a way,” James said, though he had no very clear plan in mind. “Russell isn’t the only one with power to ruin you.”

“But how can you ruin me without ruining her?” Arrington asked patiently.

“If the two of you were separated, I can’t imagine that she’d care overmuch if you failed in your career.”

Arrington’s eyebrows flew up. Apparently that possibility had yet to occur to him. “Let’s not be so hasty,” he said.

“If you want to keep my sister,
make her happy.
Or at the very least, cease making her so miserable.”

“Again you assume the fault lies on my side.”

“I know it does. Before this morning I would’ve said she was worth ten of you. Now the number is closer to a thousand.”

Arrington’s only response was an undignified snort.

“And now,” James said with the coldest, most sarcastic imitation of civility he could muster, “I bid you good day. My wife will be wondering what has become of me.”

Arrington turned a slightly deeper shade of red, and James wondered why a simple allusion to Lucy had angered him more. But, “Give Lucy my greetings,” was all he said, his civility as forced as James’s own had been.

It was James’s turn to snort as he turned his back on his brother-in-law and stalked off to the stables. By the time Ghost was resaddled, Arrington had disappeared from the inn yard.

As soon as he was out of town, James urged Ghost to a gallop. Though the mare clearly enjoyed the run, her head held high, her every springing stride filled with the simple joy of a creature performing the task it had been born for, the speed only increased the storminess of James’s emotions. All he could think of was getting home to tell Lucy. It might grieve her to hear such a tale of her cousin, but James knew she took Anna’s part in the newlyweds’ quarrel. Perhaps she, with her greater knowledge of her cousin, would be able to think of something to do.

Lucy had her morning meeting with Mrs. Ellis and rode Barbara on a brief circuit of the gardens and orchards immediately surrounding the house before she would allow herself to go into the library and seek out the book James had mentioned. Before she sat down at his desk, she selected another book, an innocent collection of poetry. If anyone entered the room unexpectedly, she wanted to have something else at hand so she could close and conceal this book that was so shocking it must be kept under lock and key.

With the volume of poetry within easy reach, she took the key James had given her, unlocked the third drawer and drew out a heavy tome. The dark leather cover was embossed in a script she did not recognize, and she felt a chill run down her spine at the sheer mysteriousness of the thing.

She set the book down and opened it, carefully, for it looked old and fragile. She sighed with curiosity and wonder over the colorful illuminations on the opening pages, where sloe-eyed women in saris conversed and cavorted with equally exotic men clad in turbans and robes.

But at first she could not understand what was so scandalous about it, nor why the way James had looked at her when he’d mentioned it had made her wish they could return to bed that instant. As she paged through the opening sections, the beautifully detailed illustrations showed men and women engaged in the affairs of public life in a great house or perhaps a royal court—dancing, hunting, dining, flirting—interesting for the similarities and differences to English life, but nothing that she could not have shown with perfect propriety to her little brothers or young Miss Cathcart. Studying the images, Lucy wondered if she could reproduce the technique in her own drawing, different as it was from anything she had seen before, and, idly, how it would feel to wear a sari.

She continued paging through the book. The illustrations grew more amorous, though still nothing even as suggestive as the mostly nude Paris in the David painting upstairs. Fully clothed couples kissed and embraced.

And then she turned past several pages dense with the text she could not read and came face to face with a lavish, full-page image of a couple, well,
coupling.
Lucy’s face heated—and not merely her face. She shifted restlessly in the chair.

Faintly embarrassed but wholly aroused, she kept going. Ah, here was a couple standing up, the man supporting the woman against a pillar as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, imagining. Yes, they must try that, perhaps even tonight. She turned the page.

Dear God. If James did
that
to her, how on earth was she to concentrate well enough to do it back to him at the same time? Surely the thing was impossible. Speaking of impossibilities, if they tried the position in the next illustration after that, Lucy was sure her spine would snap in two. But the next picture, oh yes, that looked pleasurable indeed. She smiled to herself. The very instant James arrived home, she was leading him upstairs, and if the servants thought their behavior scandalous and gossiped about them all throughout the countryside, so be it.

Familiar footsteps sounded outside in the entry hall—James, and James in a hurry. Could it be he was eager for the same cause as she? She sprang to her feet as the door opened.